


Leaving his Cocoon

by hillnerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Complete, Depression, F/M, Fred Weasley's Funeral, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 03:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12926412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillnerd/pseuds/hillnerd
Summary: George not very long after Fred's death.





	Leaving his Cocoon

George couldn't move. His limbs were heavy and breathing felt like more of an effort than usual. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, most likely permanently. He pushed his palms into his eye socket as he let out a deep yawn that made him shiver. The yawn reverberated in his ears like a thunderstorm. Wiping at his eyes a bit more, he rolled over and forced himself to open one eye. The clock read one o'clock in the afternoon. He let out a sigh. It wasn't really a surprise. He hadn't fallen asleep til well after four.

He had missed the funeral. He had been planning to, but now that he had, he wondered if it was the right thing to do. Would everyone be disappointed in him? Ah, fuck it.

He knew it was expected of him. When you love someone deeply, you're supposed to attend their funeral, right? He just didn't want to. He had always hated funerals. And this time, he knew all the eyes would be on him. He'd have to talk to people, thank them for coming, try not to sob in front of everyone. He'd have to deal with the looks he'd been getting for days after- well, after everything. He shook his head to try to clear his head of the thought. It was all a fucking nightmare.

He was not going to be there to watch part of himself be buried.

And frankly, it probably was easier on everyone if he wasn't there. Who needed the departed's doppleganger there? It's almost a mockery.

He punched his pillow and threw it across the room.

"Fuck!"

He never wanted to see any of them again. He never wanted to look in a mirror again. He didn't even know if he wanted to live, really. It felt like every memory and place was tainted.

He couldn't go to his flat. He couldn't go to work. He couldn't go to the burrow. He couldn't go anywhere.

Except the pisser. Jesus he had to piss.

With a slow grunt he sat up, a heavy sense of vertigo hitting him for an instant.

He wrapped the scratchy comforter around himself like a giant hooded robe and shuffled across the room. Plates, clothes, wrappers and bottles littered the floor, making the journey somewhat perilous. His cocoon blanket scraped past the dishes, and he was fairly certain he now had ketchup or brown sauce being smeared behind him

He flicked the light on and instantly regretted it- the bright light making him screw his face up and give a hiss between his teeth. The bathroom was in a similar state to the hotel room, with heaps of towels and dirty clothes in his path. He kicked them out of his way to get to the toilet, feeling a bout of nausea.

The sweet release of finally peeing was a relief, though. He let out a humorless laugh. The only joy he could feel was when he safely made it to the toilet and could take a piss.

"Fuck, you're pathetic," he muttered to himself, scratching his grizzled chin. He rarely was anything but clean shaven, but George found looking in the mirror to shave was too much for him. He pushed the comforter up around his head again, and scuffled out the bathroom- only seeing a piece of his hair sticking out in his peripheral vision.

He was about to head back to bed when he heard a light knock at the door.

Fuck he didn't want to see anybody. He knew he couldn't pretend to give a shit about how anyone else was feeling. They were bloody sad? Well good. He wasn't here to make them feel better. They were having a good day? Fuck them.

He wanted to ignore them, but knew they'd just keep knocking if he didn't come to the door. Or worse, they'd come in.

Shit. He had forgotten to put up his 'do not disturb sign.'

They knocked again.

There was no peep hole.

George sighed, then opened the door a crack.

Angelina Johnson was standing in front of his hotel door. She was looking very pretty in a bright red dress that seemed like she had been sewn into it, it fit her so perfectly. Yeah, she had a jacket, boots and bag that sort of ruined the sexy vibe, but George could still appreciate how fit she looked. Well, there was something beyond pissing he could appreciate. Who knew?

"Hey," she said, looking miraculously laid back.

"Hey," he responded with eloquence. He cleared his throat and coughed a bit.

"Nice duvet," she smirked.

"Nice dress," he replied, not meaning to sound playful. God he wanted some firewhiskey. And to drown in a tub. Both of those sounded great right now.

"So, I was thinking it'd be nice to get some food and drinks somewhere. Maybe Muggle?" she said looking around the Muggle hotel hallway they were in.

He hesitated. He wanted to sleep some more, and then maybe drink…

Losing someone. It was hard enough, but dealing with everyone else after was almost worse. He felt so much hatred for everyone around him. He felt no comfort with them at all. They all were crying and holding each other, and trying to reach out to him- and he just wanted to fucking punch and yell at every single one of them. He wanted to go to a circus and get stepped on by an elephant. He wanted fly his broom into the ocean. He wanted to break every mirror he'd ever seen.

Angelina raised a challenging eyebrow at him. Everyone had been treating him like he was made of glass, and here she was looking like she'd hex him.

It might be nice to get food that didn't come from a vending machine or the crappy hotel…

"Er, yeah, okay," he mumbled.

"Cool. Can I come in?"

"No!" he let out, nearly slamming the door in her face. What a tosser he was. She was looking at him like he was quite mad. He was being a reclusive weirdo, really. He'd probably start collecting his piss in jars and would stop trimming his nails, at this rate.

"Er, no… It's a fucking trash heap in here…"

"I don't mind. I've been to your flat before, remember?" she said with an ironic smile. His place was always a bit filthy, he had to admit, but this was a new level of putrid even for him.

"I'll meet you downstairs in ten," he said shutting the door, not waiting for a response.

Fuck, why had he said yes. Did he even have clean clothes?

He felt a panic as he suddenly had to find things in his disgusting hotel room. There was a anxious flutter in his stomach, like he'd drunk too much coffee and not eaten anything.

It took some digging and a bit of wand work, but he finally found a t-shirt and jeans that didn't smell too bad. He'd have to forgo boxers as there weren't any that were even moderately clean. He did a few freshening charms so that he wasn't completely rank and prepared to leave. He was nervous, and wasn't quite sure where his wallet was. He felt like he'd been running a marathon, trying to quickly get dressed and actually leave his cocoon he'd been in for… he didn't even know how long.

Looking around the room, he felt bad for leaving such a mess to muggle maids who would have to touch it. He put up his do not disturb sign, and tried to remind himself to clean the room a bit.

The elevator had an annoyingly high pitched chime that made him wince. He shuffled in beside an old couple who smiled and nodded to him. He tried to work his face into a perfunctory smile, but only managed a grimace before he loudly cleared his throat of some phlegm. That seemed to take the smiles off their face well enough. He felt a laugh wanting to bubble up, but it was quickly squelched when the doors shut.

The doors to the elevator were well polished brass, and he was forced to look at his own reflection for the first time in over a week.

He didn't look that different, really. He had a healthy dose of stubble, and looked a bit more pale than usual with slight circles under his eyes- but really, he just looked like his normal self. George supposed it was stupid to think he'd be physically altered, but it almost felt wrong for him to look the same. He almost wanted his reflection to show how changed he was. He should look thin and ten times older with great dark circles under his eyes. He should look like a homeless heroin addict or something. He should have half his body missing and be covered in great scars. The only part of him that looked right was the missing ear.

The elevator let out that stupid chime again and all too soon his reflection disappeared.

The lobby was well lit. He wanted to hiss like a vampire at it. Everyone looked happy and busy. It was annoying, but also a relief. The wizarding world was just as fucking destroyed as he was, and he wanted nothing to do with it. People could rebuild all they want, but he was certain he never wanted to step into the wizarding world again. It might be hard at first, but he was fairly certain he could live out his days in the muggle world, perhaps even become contented with his anonymity and general uselessness.

It took a bit of looking before he saw Angelina. She was sitting back on the couch and lounging much like Ginny did before his mum would scold her for not 'sitting like a lady.' She had a muggle magazine in her hand and was half-heartedly reading the article.

He didn't want to have to talk to her. He just wanted to sit and look at her, really. Fucking creepy tosser, he was.

He silently approached, hands in his pockets.

"Almost ten minutes exactly," she said before looking up at him. "Fancy a burger?"

"Sure," he said, following her as she walked slightly ahead.

Her hair was long and straight right now, and in a ponytail that swayed hypnotically.

"How far will it be?" he sighed, realizing he was already exhausted just from the havoc of getting dressed.

"A few blocks. Think you can manage? I can always carry you, if you like," she said, pushing through the hotel door.

"And they say chivalry is dead," he said with a small smile.


End file.
